Cruel Summer
by fluttermoth
Summary: Justiciar Malrian's sisters, Elenwen, Elaninde, and Aelfwynie come for a visit. (Set 10 years prior to the events of the game, so around 4E 190.)
1. Chapter 1

This fic is a pseudo-prequel to Causa Mortis, so it will make more sense if you have read that story first. Also, I suggest reading the Elaninde Listener series by Heiwako if you'd like to learn more about Elaninde. And since this was inspired by Heiwako's Season Unending fic, I'm going to recommend reading that one too! :)

Warnings for Malrian being creepy and controlling, and some crude humor, but nothing too bad.

* * *

Lumen stands on a small pedestal, wearing nothing but her underclothes and feeling horribly awkward. An Altmer seamstress and her staff flit around her like a carnival of carrion birds, throwing layers of tulle and organza around her body, and then taking it away before Lumen can even begin to figure out what kind of shape they are hoping to create.

Once every year, Malrian brings a tailor to his home and commissions her to create a new wardrobe for Lumen. The clothes he dresses her in would befit any Altmer lady of high-standing. They are made from the finest fabrics imported from Alinor, and modeled after the most current Altmer fashions. This year, the popular colors are gold and silver combined with sparkling pastels that make the wearer appear as a rare jewel.

Malrian sits in his favorite chair, watching the chaos and occasionally commenting if he likes or dislikes a certain color or fabric. "Valyrie, I'd like to put a rush on this order, particularly for the summer gowns. My sisters will be coming to visit in two months and I want my pet to look her best."

"Of course, Justiciar," the seamstress replies, dipping into a deep bow before ordering her staff to pack up their supplies.

Now free of miles of fabric, pins, and too many busy hands, Lumen steps down from the pedestal and one of Valyrie's staff picks it up and takes it away. The gaggle of tailors leave the room in a bustle of noise, and silence falls over Lumen and Malrian when the door closes with a soft click.

"May I dress, master?" Lumen asks softly, wrapping her arms around her body to preserve what's left of her modesty.

"Not yet," Malrian says, watching her with a lazy smirk on his face. "Come here and stand before me. Somehow I have failed to notice how much you've grown this past year."

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, but not enough to prevent her from following an order, Lumen walks up to Malrian and asks, "Does it displease you?"

"Oh no, pet," he purrs, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand. "On the contrary, I am pleased with what I see. Most Bosmeri females tend to be lithe and quite scrawny, not unlike their Altmer counterparts. But you, pet, you are- oh, what's the word? Buxom. Zaftig, even. Though I am loathe to use a Nord loanword, it _is_ a rather fitting description for you."

"Thank you, master," Lumen says, inclining her head.

Malrian sets his glass down on the carved oak table beside his chair and motions for Lumen to step closer. "My sisters, the evil harpies that they are, may try to insult you for it," he says, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and leaning forward. "Don't listen to them, you are exactly as I want you to be."

"Yes, master," Lumen stammers, unused to such compliments.

"You may dress now," he says, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

* * *

The impending arrival of Malrian's sisters is a source of great excitement among the guards, and a source of immense distress among the help. The maids have all worked themselves into a dither in regards to the cleanliness of the house. Unfortunately, Lumen seems to be catching their ire at every turn. In just the span of one afternoon she was scolded for walking barefoot across a recently polished floor, thrown out of the kitchens for asking for a peach tart, and when she finally left the house hoping to seek solace outside, she made the mistake of walking beneath a window just as one of the maids was pouring a bucket of dirty water out of it.

"Honestly," Malrian huffs. "The one day I need you to behave like a proper young lady, and you go and make a damn nuisance of yourself."

"I'm sorry, master," Lumen says, shivering as she piles her wet clothes in a soggy heap on the veranda.

"You're lucky I don't have time to punish you," he says, draping a towel around her shoulders and roughly shoving her inside the house. "My sisters will be arriving in less than an hour. So get cleaned up and get dressed. I expect you to look and act civilized!"

"Yes, master." Lumen stares at her feet, not daring to make eye contact with him. "I'm sorry, master. I'll behave."

"You're testing my patience," Malrian says, and Lumen walks faster when he snaps his fingers. "Go!"

Lumen tugs the towel tighter around her shoulders and runs to her bedroom, eager to escape Malrian's view just in case he decides he _does _have time to punish her. Once inside the relative safety of her room, she drops her towel on the floor and takes a seat on the pouffe in front of her vanity. It will take hours for her hair to dry, and time is not a luxury Lumen has. So she pulls her long hair into a bun and secures it with a gold clip, adorned with emeralds and diamonds; a gift from Malrian for good behavior.

The maids like to call her 'Malrian's pampered pet' and though Lumen does not know how other Altmer treat their pets, she knows her life is fairly easy as long as she follows his rules. Disobedience is severely punished, while obedience earns her gifts and affection. As much as she hates herself for it, she does prefer the latter.

With her hair taken care of, Lumen puts on a dress that Malrian chose for her the previous night; a sleeveless, green dress made of a thin material that clings to her curves. The skirt falls to her ankles, and there are slits on each side that reveal her legs. After stepping into a pair of velvet slippers, she looks at herself in the mirror. She's presentable, except that her dress needs to be buttoned in the back, and there's only one mer who can help her out with that task; Malrian. No one in his household staff is allowed to touch his beloved pet without his express permission.

A shiver runs through her at the thought of pestering Malrian. He's been in a foul mood thanks to the imminent arrival of his sisters, and Lumen has often been the outlet of his frustration. Still, she needs his help; the punishment she might get for disturbing him is likely to be less severe than the one she gets for walking around half dressed. After draping a sash made of golden lamé across her arm, Lumen darts out of her room. She doesn't get far, however, as she runs directly into a tall, female Altmer.

"F-forgive me, mistress!" Lumen falls to her knees and bows at the woman's feet. She flinches, expecting her transgression to be met with screeching or the bitter sting of destruction magic.

"Oh, _do_ get up!" A high-pitched voice trills. "You'll soil your lovely dress! Come on! Up! Up!"

Lumen stands, and before she can get a good look at the woman, she's grabbing Lumen by the shoulders and spinning her around. "Let me help you with this," she says, quickly buttoning the dress, and then grabbing the sash from her arm and tying it around her waist.

"Thank you, mistress," Lumen says, turning around and bending into a slight bow.

"Oh, enough with this 'mistress' business, just call me Aelfwynie, dear! Or you can call me Wynnie for short. But not Wynalicious, only my darling husband is allowed to call me that," Aelfwynie says with a wink and a giggle.

Lumen is dumbfounded. By the way Malrian had been describing his sisters, she had thought they would all be cruel, hideous Hagravens. Though he had mentioned that he has a favorite, and Aelfwynie must be her. She looks very similar to Malrian with her bright, blue eyes and long, blonde hair. Aelfwynie looks like a princess; her hair is curled and twisted into an intricate up do that is held in place with combs in the shape of butterflies. Her dress is a white organza gown with gold butterflies embroidered across the corset and skirt, and she is made even taller by her golden, high heel shoes.

"Thank you, Lady Aelfwynie," she says, hoping the rest of Malrian's sisters are as kind as she is.

Aelfwynie links her arm with Lumen's and practically drags her down the hallway. "You must be my darling brother's little pet, yes? We were all getting ready to sit down and have some wine, and you simply must come join us!"

They enter the parlor to find two women sitting on a sofa, facing a second sofa where Malrian is sitting. It's easy for Lumen to guess which sister is Elenwen. Like Malrian, the eldest is dressed in Thalmor robes, and her wavy blonde hair is neatly brushed back in a traditional Altmer style. The other must be Elaninde; her flame red hair and striking green eyes make her stand out among her pale siblings. She has a bored expression on her face and is slouching on a sofa with one leg draped over the armrest, and she's wearing the skimpiest dress Lumen has ever seen.

"Oh, Malrian," Aelfwynie sing-songs, "look what I found!" At Malrian's resulting glare, Aelfwynie pulls away from Lumen, fluttering her hands in the air as she takes a seat next to him. "Divines, I forgot how selfish you are with your things. Sometimes I wish I wouldn't have spoiled you so much when you were a little boy, but I just couldn't help myself. You were so _adorable_!"

Lumen's eyes meet Malrian's, and he nods at her; an indication that he is pleased with her appearance. She kneels beside him and sits quietly while he and Elenwen continue their conversation which Aelfwynie had interrupted. Elenwen completely ignores Lumen's presence, while Elaninde looks at her with interest, and Lumen has the distinct feeling that catching Elaninde's interest is a bad thing.

"Malrian, I want to know why you haven't responded to any of the potential breeding contracts I've sent. You realize you're quite lucky to be given a choice in the matter, and I suggest you choose before I choose for you." Elenwen's smile is more vicious than a wolf's snarl, making her threat that much more severe.

"I simply haven't had the time to look through them, dear sister," Malrian says smoothly, "I've been busy."

Elenwen ignores his flimsy excuse. "I suggest you respond to the one from Aerynn of House Jorian. Her youngest daughter Ravienne is interested in a contract with you. They are a very well-bred family and quite wealthy."

"Aerynn is a cow and I am sure her daughter is as well," Malrian says, folding his arms and leaning back on the couch.

"It's the best you're going to get! Honestly, Malrian, for an Altmer of your age and social standing to remain uncontracted and childless is highly irregular. It's time for you to do your duty to the Aldmeri Dominion."

"I have done my duty!"

"It'll only take ten minutes of your time, brother," Elaninde purrs, her lips curling into a malicious smile. "Five if you're _really_ determined."

"By the Eight..." Malrian grumbles, reaching for his glass of wine.

"Oh, sweetie. I think I understand," Aelfwynie says, and pats him on the knee. "Are you not attracted to women? Because you know we can always work around that. Most women are perfectly willing to let their partner's lover, um, well- _get things started_ as long as you remember to put your um, er- _you know what_ in the proper place."

Malrian sputters and chokes on his wine, and Lumen grabs his glass to prevent it from spilling on his robes. Aelfwynie roughly slaps him on the back until he finally pushes her away. "That is _not _the issue," he gasps.

Elaninde laughs. "You're such a prude!"

"Don't act like such a little boy, Malrian. It's a perfectly acceptable method of conception. It's the only way Rulindil managed to sire five children," Elenwen says.

"I really don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Fine, I'll leave you be, _for now_. But this conversation is far from over," Elenwen says, frowning. Her gaze falls on Lumen for the first time since her arrival and she says, "I would like some more wine."

Obediently, Lumen rises from her place at her master's side and retrieves a decanter from a nearby serving table. She carefully refills Elenwen's wine glass, then glances around the room to see who else needs their wine refilled.

"Speaking of breeding," Elaninde says, holding her glass out for Lumen to fill. "Have you considered breeding your pet? She could supply you with an army of Bosmer with those wide, birthing hips."

Lumen's expression is as impassive as ever, but internally she's screaming. She doubts Malrian would ever agree to such an idea, but she's not certain that his sisters would respect his opinions on the matter. They seemed rather keen to force him into breeding, after all.

"She's just overfed," Elenwen sniffs.

"Ooh!" Aelfwynie squeals. "Our steward is a Bosmer and he would be perfect for her! He's got blonde hair and the most gorgeous, green eyes. They would have lovely babies!"

Lumen and Malrian share a look, and for the first time in her life, she can see sympathy in his eyes. "I have no interest in breeding my pet," he says, then looks away from Lumen. "There are enough Bosmeri mongrels running around Tamriel, already."

Elenwen nods her agreement. "They're like rabbits. You start out with two and in the matter of a few months you have twenty."

Rather glad they are back to insults and not focused on her future children, Lumen refills Elaninde's glass, and then turns away to serve Aelfwynie. However a pinch to her rear has her jumping and squealing while Elaninde cackles. Malrian glares at his sister, but he's not about to scold his elder sister, so he turns his attention to Lumen instead.

"Really, pet," he snaps, "have a little decorum."

"I- I'm so sorry," she stammers, and after refilling Aelfwynie and Malrian's glasses she places the decanter back on the serving table, and returns to her master's side. The afternoon wears on without further incident. The conversation turns from breeding, to the Great War, to family news, and gossip about other Thalmor families. Elaninde eventually declares her boredom and leaves to explore the gardens with Aelfwynie in tow. With them gone, an uncomfortable silence falls over Elenwen and Malrian.

"At least tell me why you are so against the idea of breeding." Elenwen's voice is softer and less authoritative than before when her two sisters were in the room.

Malrian sighs. "I am not certain how to explain it," he says, his foot tapping loudly against the marble floor. "And I am not certain if I want to."

"I cannot help you if I do not know what the issue is," Elenwen says, her gaze flicking between Lumen and Malrian. "Don't tell me you prefer you waste your seed on your pet."

"Don't be crass!" he snaps, and Lumen flinches at the tone of his voice.

Elenwen shrugs. "I am not being crass, Malrian. It is not uncommon for Thalmor of our station to keep pets, and even though the idea disgusts me, it is also not uncommon for those relationships to turn intimate."

Malrian pinches the bridge of his nose. "My pet provides me with company and entertainment, and nothing more."

"All right," Elenwen says, though she doesn't sound entirely convinced. "So I ask again; why have you not agreed to a breeding contract?"

"Pet, leave the room," he says, and Lumen quickly obeys, even though she's burning with curiosity. What could he possibly have to say that he doesn't want her to hear? After shutting the door to the parlor behind her, she runs down the hallway. There are two doors on either side of the parlor; one that leads to the foyer, and another that leads to Malrian's office. His office has two entrances as well; the one leading from the parlor and another that connects to the hallway.

Lumen slips into his office through the second door, and after stepping out of her shoes she quietly pads to the door that leads to the parlor. She presses her ear against it, hoping she hasn't missed too much of the conversation.

"Malrian, please talk to me. There's no reason to drag this out."

After a few moments he finally says, "The act of mating disgusts me. I can't do it. I _won't _do it."

"You mean- you've never?"

"I have, and I didn't like it. It's so undignified and dirty, and ugh- _moist_. The only thing that should ever be moist is cake."

"Malrian, really-" Elenwen's voice breaks off into a soft chuckle. "Just… lie back and think of Alinor."

"Great," he snaps. "Now you're making fun of me."

"So? You're being ridiculous! It's not as if you have to carry the little parasite inside of you for months on end. And if it's _moisture_ that bothers you, dear brother, just be grateful you don't have to actually give birth to the wretched thing."

"Elenwen, please," Malrian says weakly. "That's quite enough."

"Is it? Because I am fully prepared to describe the horrors of childbirth to you in full, gory detail. I went through it twice, as you know. Even if you are the weaker sex, you really do have the easier way of it when it comes to breeding. So stop acting like a spoiled brat and do your duty to the Dominion!" Elenwen's voice never rises in pitch, but her tone brooks no argument.

Lumen backs away from the door, surprised that the man who could order her to kill on little more than a whim would be so disgusted by the act of childbirth. Even more surprising is the fact that he was so disgusted by the simple act of sex, though his admission certainly does explain why Malrian reacted so violently once when he discovered Lumen with a boy.

It was last summer, and the farmer who made weekly delivers to the estate had fallen ill, so he sent his farmhand in his stead. To Lumen's immense pleasure, the farmhand was incredibly handsome. He had tanned skin from working the fields, black hair, and an intoxicating smile that made her stomach do flips, and made her skin feel overly warm. After many weeks of clumsy flirtations, Lumen had pulled him behind the garden shed to try out a few things she'd only read about in racy romance novels. Unfortunately, Malrian found them before they got very far. The sight of the boy's mouth on his pet's neck and his hands up her shirt had sent her master into a rage. Lumen had been severely punished for her imprudence and the handsome farm boy had mysteriously vanished.

Malrian has always been jealous where Lumen is concerned. She wasn't terribly surprised when he killed the farm boy, and she hadn't been all that upset about it anyway. It's not as if they were in love or anything silly like that. Lumen had simply desired a roll in the hay and nothing more. But then Malrian had punished her for weeks on end for succombing to her base urges, and Lumen never really understood why, until now.

She leaves Malrian's office and storms down the hallway, roughly shoving the doors to the veranda open with more force than necessary, and stepping out into the hot, summer evening. "Punish me for _your_ issues, will you? At least you know what _it _feels like you great big bag of-"

"Apples?! Oh, oh, I know! A bag of candy! I love candy!"

Aelfwynie's cheerful voice pulls Lumen from her ranting, and she stumbles to a stop. "Uh- oh, pardon me, mistresses. I didn't know you were sitting out here and-"

"Oh, stop," Elaninde says. "What's got your smalls in a twist, hmm?"

"My smalls are perfectly aligned, mistress."

Elaninde laughs, and before she can respond Malrian appears in the doorway. "Elaninde, Aelfwynie," he nods to each, then says, "I have work to do this afternoon. I'll see you at seven for dinner." With nothing more to say, he turns on his heel and strides back down the hallway.

Knowing a silent command when she is given one, Lumen bows to the two sisters and scurries after Malrian. She follows him into his office and shuts the door behind them, then sits on the floor beside him when he takes a seat in his favorite reading chair.

"I do not know if I am going to survive this visit with my dignity intact," he sighs.

Lumen leans against his leg, resting her head on his thigh. Malrian reaches down to pull the pin from her hair, letting her auburn locks fall loose across her shoulders. The feeling of his fingers stroking through her hair and his long nails gently scratching against her scalp usually lull her to sleep, but her mind is too busy turning over all that happened today. Her master's obvious distaste of sex is rather interesting, and might be something she can use to her advantage. Though she is reluctant to try his patience right now, otherwise he might have her bred as punishment. Lumen shivers at the very thought, and the hand in her hair stills.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

"I shouldn't trouble you with my worries."

Malrian laughs. "Please, trouble me, pet. We haven't had the chance to talk much lately."

Lumen turns to face him. "I'm afraid your sisters might try to breed me," she says, the words tumbling out now that the floodgates have been opened. "Please don't let them! I don't want to bear children and I certainly don't want to have sex with some old steward!"

Malrian's eyes go wide, and for a brief, terrifying moment Lumen wonders if he is going to punish her. That is until he throws his head back and laughs harder than she's ever seen him do.

"My dear girl," he says, chuckling, "You have nothing to worry about. If you were with child it would be terribly inconvenient for me."

"It would be inconvenient for me as well, master."

"I imagine so," he says, stroking her hair. "Regardless, you have nothing to worry about. My sister is more concerned with breeding me, anyway. She is forcing me to throw a party in Ravienne's honor. She thinks if I meet her I'll change my mind."

"If I may ask... Why do you not like her? Is she not pretty?"

Malrian shrugs. "I've never met her, and I have no desire to meet her. But it seems I have little choice in the matter. Elenwen outranks me in both the Thalmor and within our family, so I must do as she says."

The thought of Malrian being anyone's subordinate is a strange one. Within these walls his word is the law, and his will is always done. His authority is rarely questioned, and it often falls to Lumen to dispose of anyone who dares to. Lumen does enjoy those moments when Malrian orders her to kill. She loves the rush of power, the spilling of blood, and the submissive thrill of pleasing her master.

They sit in silence for a long time, neither of them bothering to speak or move until the steward calls them to dinner.

* * *

If Lumen thought the maids had worked themselves into a panic previously, it is nothing compared to the mania that has overtaken them now. Malrian rarely throws parties, but when he does it is a momentous occasion. The maids are determined to clean the house from top to bottom, leaving no picture frame or vase unturned. Lumen does her best to stay out of their way, and she finds her refuge by helping the groundskeeper weed the gardens. He is glad to accept her help, and she is happy just to be away from the chaos of the house.

"I can't tell if you're trying to grow herbs or ground ivy," Lumen teases, throwing a handful of ground ivy into an ever-growing pile of discarded greenery.

Silvan laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I can't tell, either," he says. "Worse yet is the nettle coming in from the north corner. It's determined to choke out the mint, which is the Justiciar's favorite, as you know."

The groundskeeper is a handsome, middle aged Bosmer with dark brown hair and a strong nose. He's always been kind to Lumen. Often going out of his way to speak with her about the various flowers he is planting, or will be planting in the future. Their conversations rarely went any further than that, lest they provoke Malrian and send him into a jealous rage.

"Lumen!" Aelfwynie's voice pulls Lumen from her work, and as much as Lumen does like the Altmer, she would prefer to be left to her mundane task for just a little while longer. "Oh, Lulu! Where are you, dear? Oh! There you are!"

"Lady Aelfwynie." Lumen inclines her head, and remains on her knees in the dirt.

"I hate to disturb your- um, well- whatever it is that you're doing," she says, sounding vaguely disgusted. "But I just wanted to know if you'd be attending the party. Elaninde and I are trying to get a head-count."

Lumen wipes her hands on her trousers. "Master does not often host parties, but when he has he's never allowed me to attend."

"That's ridiculous! Oh, and speaking of ridiculous you should have heard him today! Claiming he was hosting a party 'under duress' and that we should all be ashamed of ourselves for forcing him to embarrass himself by entertaining a 'cow'. He is _so_ melodramatic! He doesn't even know what Ravienne looks like! Anyway- don't worry, Lulu, I'll talk to him. Surely he'll let you attend the party. A young lady should attend at least one party in her lifetime, right?"

"As you wish, my lady," Lumen says, overwhelmed. "I am honored that you thought to invite me."

"You're always so polite. It's so cute!," Aelfwynie chirps. "Oh! Maybe Elaninde and I can help you get dressed for the party! It'll be fun! We can give each other makeovers!" She squeals and claps her hands, then turns on her heel to run back to the house, presumably to plot Lumen's doom with Elaninde.

Lumen heaves a sigh once Aelfwynie is out of earshot. "_Fuck_ me," she groans.

Silvan tosses a clump of ground ivy at her, laughing. "Now that's not very polite at all. Was your father a sailor?"

"Maybe," Lumen says with a grin. "But you can't tell me that you would fancy being the lone Bosmer in a room full of Altmer."

His smile fades. "No," he says. "I don't envy you."

"Oh, well," Lumen sighs, and sets to work on another patch of ground ivy. "There's nothing to be done for it. I have no choice, and I'll get nowhere by sulking about it."

Silvan takes a breath, and she looks up at him, expecting him to say something. But whatever it is that he planned to say, he thinks better of it. Instead, he reaches over and covers her hand with his, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze before pulling away. They work in silence after that. Silvan, upset by his inability to help her, and Lumen, terrified of the way her stomach flutters when he touches her. Just like when the farm boy touched her. Only this time she can't do anything about it. Because if anything happened to Silvan, Lumen would be truly heartbroken.

* * *

**A/N:** This fic was inspired by Heiwako's "Season Unending". At first I only meant for this to be a crack-fic where Malrian's big sisters come to visit him in Cyrodiil and harass him, but it's turning into something more because I keep getting more ideas for it.

I've been wanting to write a more in-depth look into Lumen's past, and I've been dying to flesh out Malrian a bit more. Make him into a person rather than a shadow that haunts Lumen's nightmares. (Don't worry, he's still an evil bastard.)

I never thought I would name a fic after a Bananarama song, but hey, it works! XD


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, Lulu! You look stunning, dear! Just stunning!"

Lumen examines her appearance in her full-length mirror, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at how very _little_ her dress conceals. The collar of the white silk dress is so low she's certain her breasts will come spilling out at the slightest provocation. A wide, jeweled belt cinches her waist and amplifies her generous hips, effectively giving her an hourglass shape.

"I don't think Master is going to approve..."

"To the Void with what he thinks," Elaninde says as she pulls Lumen's hair back into a half ponytail. "He's no fun at all. If we're lucky, maybe Lady Ravienne will be able to yank that stick out of his ass."

"He's so austere," Aelfwynie giggles. "He reminds me of Father."

The door to Lumen's room opens and Malrian steps inside. He's dressed to the nines in his formal Thalmor robes, which are cut to emphasize his shoulders and waist, making him look taller and thinner than his everyday robes do. But to Lumen, he just looks more intimidating than usual, especially when he frowns at her. "Elaninde, when I agreed to allow you and Aelfwynie to help her dress, _this _is not what I expected! That dress is _not_ acceptable," he snaps.

"Of course it is! It's lovely and it shows off her _assets_ beautifully," Elaninde says, pleased at Malrian's poor reaction.

Malrian strides across the room and flings the doors to the wardrobe open, and after grabbing a sheer, white shawl from inside he thrusts it at Lumen. "Put this around your shoulders. I expect you to look like a proper young lady, not some tavern wench."

The two sisters regard Malrian coolly, and Aelfwynie says, "I've changed my mind, he _is_ Father."

Malrian grunts, electing not to respond to his sisters. "Meet me downstairs in ten minutes, pet. I'll be waiting in the foyer," he tells her, then leaves the room, muttering curses under his breath.

Aelfwynie places her hands on her hips. "Honestly, how are you supposed to have any fun? He is _so _repressed."

"I am his property," Lumen says quietly, as she tugs the shawl around her shoulders. "I am to do as _he_ wishes, not as I wish."

Aelfwynie and Elaninde share a look, and the elder sister says, "He treats you less like a pet and more like a daughter. I'm surprised he hasn't locked you away in a tower."

"Don't give him any ideas," Lumen murmurs. "He's so upset about the party, perhaps I should change. I don't want to upset him further."

Aelfwynie dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry, dear. He's just sulking because he isn't getting his way," she says as she adjusts her dress, which is a shimmering, silver taffeta gown.

"Exactly," Elaninde agrees, fluffing her long, red hair. Her emerald green dress contrasts nicely with her hair, the slits running up each side of the dress show off her long, slender legs, and the low-cut of the collar leaves very little to the imagination.

The three women make their way downstairs to the foyer, where Malrian and Elenwen are awaiting the arrival of their guests. The sisters chatter excitably and fawn over each other's clothing, their compliments sounding surprisingly genuine. Lumen stands beside Malrian, nervously fidgeting with her shawl and wishing she could just stay in her room with a book. But a gentle touch to her arm stills her; the soft graze of his fingers across her skin calming her just as much as it calms him.

* * *

The great hall is buzzing with noise. The string quartet in a far off corner can barely be heard over the murmur of a hundred conversations. Hired servants with silver trays flit through the crowd of pastel silks, and slick, black leather. Lumen stays close to Malrian's side, largely due to her dislike of crowds, and so she doesn't become lost in a sea of Thalmor. There are Thalmor _everywhere_. Various Justiciars and agents from all over Cyrodiil are there, accompanied by either their spouses, or lovers, or both. A few have even brought their pets to the party.

To her left, a Justiciar leading his pet by a leash; female, probably a Nord, with her eyes focused on the ground. Her spirit broken as many times as her crooked nose has been. To her right there is a male Redguard with a heavy gold collar clasped around his neck, tethered to his mistress by a delicate, jeweled leash.

And then there is Lumen; no visible scars, clean, cared for, dressed as nicely as any noble, and willingly following at her Master's heels like a dog. He has given her the illusion of freedom, but she is no more free than the Redguard on a leash. But a life within a gilded cage is still a life, isn't it? The thought of a life outside the walls of Malrian's estate is terrifying. A life on the outside is full of uncertainties, and here, under the care of her Master, _everything_ is certain.

A lump forms in her throat when she wonders who is more broken; the cosseted pet, or the beaten slave on a leash?

"Justiciar Malrian," a low, cultured voice purrs, and Lumen glances up to see an Altmer with black hair and cold, pitiless eyes. "I have heard a great deal about your… exploits, here in Cyrodiil. Namely the eradication of a certain menace that plagued us all. It is an honor to finally meet you."

Ah, her Master's claim to fame; the annihilation of a group of assassins that had apparently caused trouble for the Thalmor. That success in combination with the strong magicka that flows within his family's bloodline are the reasons so many females are chomping at the bit to get a breeding contract with him.

Malrian inclines his head in a slight bow. "Agent Lothian," he says. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Last I heard, you were stationed in Valenwood."

"Your sources do you little credit, Malrian," Lothian chuckles, seemingly pleased that Malrian's lack of current information. "I'm being transferred to Skyrim."

"Something as mundane as a transfer is hardly worth my notice."

"Well I can't blame you. If I were inundated with breeding contracts, I wouldn't notice a transfer either," Lothian says, then turns his gaze toward Lumen. "But I couldn't help but notice your little pet. No leash? I am impressed, Malrian. It's not easy to tame a Bosmer."

"I like a challenge," Malrian says sharply, and Lumen can tell that his patience with Lothian is wearing thin.

"And just look at how she's dressed," he says with a laugh. "I had no idea you were so indulgent."

Malrian's fingers twitch. "I am hardly the indulgent type," he says, danger threading in his voice. "If you'll excuse me, I need to speak with the First Emissary."

They find Elenwen at the edge of the crowd, speaking with her two younger sisters and accompanied by an Altmer Lumen doesn't recognize. But it's easy to guess who she is. Ravienne is taller than the other women, with flawless golden skin and bright, amber eyes, her black hair flowing across her shoulders in large, looping curls. Her dress is a deep, crimson red, and her neck is adorned with rubies and diamonds.

She is _gorgeous_.

"There you are," Elenwen says, sounding slightly anxious. "We've been waiting for quite some time."

"I apologize for the delay, sister," Malrian says, then bows to Ravienne. "Lady Ravienne, it is a great pleasure to finally meet you."

"And I, you," Ravienne says. "Your sisters have told me so much about you, and I am eager to learn more."

Lumen stands obediently at Malrian's side, silent and still as she surveys the crowd. She has no interest in a conversation of platitudes and artificial compliments. As intimidating as the party is, the throng of Altmer around her is rather interesting. Thalmor parading their pets around, while others gossip, flirt, and even glare at each other in open challenge. And there, in a far off corner is Lothian, staring directly at her. Their eyes meet, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile that gives rise to the delicate hairs on the nape of her neck, and Lumen draws closer to her Master's side.

The sound of Elenwen's voice turns Lumen's attention away from Lothian and back to Malrian and his sisters. "So Ravienne, is he satisfactory?" she asks.

"Almost," Ravienne says, eyeing Malrian as a discerning patron eyes a piece of meat. "I am willing to sign the contract on the condition that Justiciar Malrian agrees to submit to a physical."

"Of course," Elenwen says with a nod. "I had a room prepared for such an occasion. It's just off the ballroom here, so we can do the physical, _hopefully_ sign the contracts, and then return to the party."

"Excuse me?" Malrian asks, appalled.

"It's a perfectly normal procedure, Malrian," Elenwen explains. "And quite necessary considering your age. Most Altmer begin breeding before they are one hundred and fifty, and you're nearly two hundred and seventy!"

"I don't care. It's degrading," he says, trying to keep his voice even.

"Oh_, come on_. You wouldn't purchase a cow without tasting the milk first, would you?" Elaninde says, and Aelfwynie sighs, shaking her head in exasperation. Malrian looks as if he would love to set them all on fire, as does Elenwen.

"I mean no offence, Justiciar," Ravienne says, hoping to smooth things over. "You're quite handsome, but that doesn't mean the rest of you is up to the task of breeding. I hope you understand, I am only thinking of our future children."

Malrian clenches his jaw, and Lumen takes a step away from him just in case he loses control of his temper. He takes a deep breath, swallowing his rage and forcing himself to smile. "I understand," he says, his voice strained. "Let's get this over with."

Lumen will never get used to seeing her Master obeying orders rather than giving them, and she rather enjoys the sight of him bending to his sister's will. Elenwen beckons for Malrian to follow her, and he, along with his sisters, Ravienne, and Lumen, leave the party behind and step into a side chamber just off the main room. The small room is usually reserved for guests who've had a little too much to drink, or just needed a moment of quiet. But today there is a dressing screen placed inside, with two Altmer women in healer's robes standing beside it.

"Do you _all_ have to be here?" Malrian snaps.

Elenwen sighs. "It is traditional for the family to be present for the physical and the signing."

"You'll be behind the screen so we won't be able to see anything, sweetie. There's nothing to be embarrassed about," Aelfwynie assures.

"We've seen everything anyway," Elaninde says. "I distinctly remember that little _nudist_ phase you went through when you were a child." His sisters all giggle at that, and Lumen stares at her feet, desperately trying not to smile.

"You'll need to get used to Elaninde's presence anyway. She and Ravienne have been lovers for years, and Ravienne is going to need her help as much as you're going to need your pet's," Elenwen says, sneering at the very thought of having Lumen involved.

"Ellie!" Aelfwynie exclaims, her hands fluttering nervously. "I told you their relationship isn't like that!"

Malrian opens his mouth, but then closes it again when he can find no words. His face is hard with outrage, and completely torn on what to shout about first; the fact that his sister will be in the room during the _disgusting_ mating process, or the fact that they assume Lumen will need to be there as well. "Why," he gasps, his voice shaking, "why do you all assume that I've been bedding my pet?"

"Haven't you?" Elenwen asks, not bothering to hide her disgust.

"No," he hisses through gritted teeth. "And you can examine her as well if you don't believe me."

An awkward silence falls over the group. Aelfwynie turns to stare intently at a painting on the wall, attempting to ignore to the conversation at hand, while Elaninde and Ravienne look almost disappointed by Malrian's revelation.

"That won't be necessary," Elenwen says, watching her brother curiously. "Go on and disrobe, then."

"Lumen," Malrian says, and Lumen's head snaps up. He rarely uses her real name, but when he does it's always to make a point. "_Leave_."

She is out the door in a matter of seconds, away from the tension of the small room and back into the swell of noise and energy of the ballroom. The crowd is far less intimidating now in comparison to the awkward situation she just left behind. She pushes through the cluster of leather, silk, and jewels and makes her way toward a serving table laden with cocktails made from West Weald Wine and peach nectar. But before Lumen can get her hands on a glass of the delicious drink, a gloved hand clamps hard around her wrist.

Lothian grins at her. "It would be a shame for such a delicacy to be wasted on your uncivilized palate."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I am perfectly civilized," Lumen says, trying to pull away from him, only for his grip to tighten.

"Oh, I think not," he purrs, stepping closer and looming over her. "Just because you're dressed like nobility does not mean you are. You're no different than a lapdog that wears clothes to amuse its masters."

"I am sure my Master would thank you for that assessment," Lumen snaps, frantically looking around for someone to help her, but the guards and servants all avert their eyes. If her Master were here, he would put a stop to this. But Malrian is still presumably bickering with Elenwen, and the Eight only knew how long that might go on. "Let me go!"

Lothian chuckles, and now his grip on her wrist is so tight she cannot feel her fingers. "You dare to command me?" he asks, more amused than insulted. He cups her cheek with his free hand, rubbing his thumb across the swell of her lips. "I wonder if your master would permit me to borrow you for a night, see if I could tame you where he has obviously failed. I've spent enough time in Valenwood to know exactly what it takes to make one of your kind break."

She could kill him. She could smash one of the cocktail glasses and jab the shards into his neck, and the bastard wouldn't even know it happened until he was bleeding out on the floor. But she can't. Lothian is not some guard that has overstepped his bounds, he's a Thalmor agent. Even if she killed him in secret his death would be difficult to cover up, and she certainly can't kill him _here_ in front of hundreds of witnesses. So she does the only thing she can do; she kicks him squarely between the legs.

Lothian's knees buckle as a pained gasp escapes him, and Lumen finally manages to pull away. A handful of witnesses gasp, and quite a few laugh, but Lumen pays them no mind. She flees from the ballroom and dashes through the hallways of Malrian's estate so fast that the portraits and fixtures flash by in an opulent blur. There is nothing she can do but run and hide, and she runs to the one place Lothian won't think to look, but her master will; her mother's old alchemy room. The room is just an empty space in the cellar now, yet even after all these years it still smells like her. Nightshade, cloves, and mint, and maybe it's just the way the wind flows through the cellar, but if she listens hard enough she thinks she can still hear her mother humming softly.

Lumen curls up in the corner to wait for Malrian, and the beating that is certain to come. She welcomes his punishments over whatever Lothian had planned for her; at least her master has his limits.

* * *

"Lumen," he says, his tone firm and adamant because he will _not_ allow his pet to witness his degradation. "_Leave_."

She doesn't bother to bow or to even murmur a _yes, Master_, she is simply gone in a flash and Malrian could not be more grateful for her haste, or her obedience. At least someone in this house respects him. He doubts he'll be able to respect himself after this ridiculous and utterly humiliating physical is done.

His sisters talk quietly as he steps behind the privacy screen to disrobe, and he hands his clothes to one of the healers who carefully drapes them over the back of a nearby chair. When he is finally undressed, he takes in a deep breath, steeling himself for what's to come. "I'm ready," he says, not at all prepared for what the healers are going to put him through.

They step behind the screen, and the one who took his clothes speaks. "My name is Calia, and this is my assistant, Orynda. I will conduct your physical exam while my assistant asks you a few questions about your sexual history," she explains, then pulls a long, marked strip of leather from her pocket. "Are you ready to begin?"

"As ready as I will ever be." Which is not ready at all, but Malrian has little choice at this point.

Calia begins measuring his body; from his toes, to his feet, then his legs, and then finally his private areas. Taking careful notes of both width and length, and then moving on to measure his torso and arms.

"How many sexual partners have you had?" Orynda asks, not bothering to look up from her list.

"Two."

"I need to know their names and races, please," she says while making a note.

"Why?" he asks.

Elenwen sighs in exasperation. "How did I know you were going to argue?" she asks, and steps closer to the privacy screen, but remains on the opposite side. "There is a clause within the breeding contract stating that all past or current partners must be disclosed, and possibly noted and evaluated if necessary."

Orynda nods and adds, "A paramour might distract you from your breeding partner, you see, and you are barred from having relations with them until Lady Ravienne conceives."

"One is in Alinor and the other is dead," he says, glancing at Calia when she listens to his heart with a small, very cold, instrument. "They are hardly a distraction."

"I still have to make note of their names and races as per the contract the First Emissary Elenwen and Lady Ravienne drafted," Orynda explains patiently, and on the other side of the screen, he can hear Elenwen clear her throat; a sign that she was losing her patience with him.

"I cannot remember the name of my first. It was ages ago and it only happened once," he says, remembering his first time. All he wanted to do was satisfy his curiosity, and once he did, he decided he didn't want to go through _that_ again. Sex felt messy and unclean. The release was all well and good, but he could take care of his needs on his own, and in a much cleaner fashion.

Orynda nods, making a note and then asking, "Her race?"

"Altmer."

"Name and race of the second, please."

"Aranwen," he says, his breath catching when he utters a name he hasn't spoken in years. Sex with Aranwen hadn't been terribly uncomfortable. He'd done it because she wanted to, and he desperately wanted to make her happy. He'd been foolishly blinded by her beauty and charm, and unable to see the danger that lurked beneath until it was too late. "She was-" he hesitates, preparing himself for any screeching that might come from his sisters when he says so, "a Bosmer."

Orynda clicks her tongue, and Elenwen says, "Oh, Malrian, _really_. Mother and Father would be so disappointed."

Malrian grits his teeth. "Any further questions?"

"A few more," Orynda says, glancing at him. "When was the last time you had sex?"

"It's been at least ten years."

From the other side of the screen he can hear Elaninde's muffled laugh. "No wonder he's so frustrated," she says, and Aelfwynie shushes her.

"How often to you pleasure yourself?" Orynda asks.

Malrian opens his mouth to argue, but Elenwen's voice cuts him off. "The contract bars you from self-pleasure until Lady Ravienne conceives," she tells him.

"That is hardly something I mark on my calendar," he snaps.

"Then give me your best estimate, Justiciar."

Malrian heaves a sigh and says, "Maybe once or twice a month." A bit of an overestimation, but he didn't often feel that particular urge. He could usually ignore it, but when it became too much to ignore, he simply treated it as any other bodily function; something to be dealt with and then forgotten about.

"Oh, that explains _so_ much," Elaninde says, not bothering to mask the delight in her voice.

"Is there anything in that contract that bars me from murdering my sister?" he growls.

Elaninde laughs. "I'd like to see you try, dear brother."

"Stop picking on each other!" Aelfwynie whines. "It's not nice!"

"Are we finished? I do believe I have been sufficiently mortified for one evening," he asks, then yelps when Calia cups his sac in her cold hands. "W-what are you doing?"

"Measuring," she answers simply.

"I am finished with my questions, thank you for your cooperation," Orynda says, bowing slightly and stepping out from behind the privacy screen to give her notes to Elenwen.

"How is it going back there? Are there any abnormalities that I should be aware of?" Ravienne asks.

"He's perfectly healthy and in good shape," Calia answers. "His phallus is an acceptable girth, but it's a bit longer than what is preferred. It's generally accepted that the longer it is, the higher the chance you have of conceiving males rather than females."

"Oh," Ravienne says flatly, clearly disappointed.

"That's nonsense!" Aelfwynie chimes in. "My darling husband is on the longer side and we've had three girls so far!"

Calia turns her attention back to Malrian. "We're almost finished, Justiciar. I just need to check your prostate."

Malrian can feel all the blood drain from his face, and he wonders if he might faint. He hopes he does. Because then maybe he can get out of this miserable breeding business and go back to serving the Dominion in his _own _way. "No," he says firmly. "Absolutely not."

"But Justiciar-"

"_No_," he snarls. "Touch me again and I'll break your fingers!"

"Malrian!" Aelfwynie yells. "That is quite rude, and I know you were raised better than that!"

"There is no reason for her to stick her fingers _there,_" he snaps, wishing that he could just be away from this wretched woman who is determined to violate every inch of him with her cold hands. But then, there is a frantic knock on the door, and Malrian wonders if Auri-El himself has heard his desperate pleas.

"Oh, for the love of-" Elenwen mutters, striding across the room and opening the door. "What is the meaning of this interruption?"

"My apologies, First Emissary, but there's been an incident," the guard explains. "Agent Lothian is claiming that Lumen attacked him without provocation. He's making quite a scene."

"What?" Malrian gasps. "Where is Lumen now?"

"I don't know, she fled the ballroom," the guard answers.

"I know where she is. Calia, hand me my clothes, I need to-"

"No. I will deal with this," Elenwen says. "I'll try to smooth things over with Agent Lothian. You are to stay here and finish your exam, and then you can go deal with that rabid beast of yours."

"Elenwen-"

"That is an _order_, Justiciar," Elenwen says, then turns on her heel and leaves the room.

Malrian is seething with anger. He hates it when Elenwen pulls rank on him, and he hates the fact that he cannot go and deal with whatever chaos his pet has caused. He left her alone for only ten minutes. What could possibly have happened in that small amount of time that would cause her to attack a Thalmor agent? He clenches his hands into fists, trying with all his might to control his fury and keep his magicka from flaring.

He is going to _kill_ that girl.

* * *

**Notes: **The Thalmor are obsessed with racial purity and potent majicka within bloodlines, therefore they have a very clinical, unromantic approach to breeding. I think your normal, average Altmer would obviously have normal courtships, though.

I want to thank Heiwako for suggesting that Malrian go through an embarrassing physical. It ended up being very amusing to write. XD

Thanks to Heiwako, CSphire, and ClandestineAssassin for their feedback! :) And thanks to everyone who has left comments on this. I'm glad people are enjoying this little fic! :D


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